


becomes the human heart.

by flustraaa



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, The Fire Nation Loves Zuko (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko is tired, minor zukka if you squint, no beta we die like jet, zuko just needs a nap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustraaa/pseuds/flustraaa
Summary: lieutenant jee is watching from the side— the little brat is all grown and becoming the person jee never thought anyone could be. but the kid has always overworked himself, and maybe that’s why their reunion is so bittersweet.(or,a 5 + 1 of the people zuko loves telling him it’s okay to rest, and the one time zuko encourages someone else to take a break).
Relationships: Fire Nation Citizen(s) & Zuko (Avatar), Hakoda & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko & Zuko's Crew (Avatar)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 387





	1. jee

**Author's Note:**

> unsure what this is. may just be word vomit.

Zuko is sixteen when he takes the crown— the small piece of metal burns a hole through his flesh and leaves him feeling dirty and marred in a way not even his fathers hand ever could. 

He stares at the ceiling every single, insufferable night, unable to sleep on a bed that is softer than his soul has become over the years of his exile, and traitorous tendencies.

It’s not treason though, he tells himself for each count of the silky red thread that presses against his bare back— it was a means to the end, and he is ushering in an era of peace.

Zuko is sixteen, and he has as many scars as he has years from the challenges of Agni Kai battles where he always reigns victorious— he has far more scars from his past, and sometimes he wonders: how can his body possibly contain so many multitudes at once.

(Zuko is not unique, Zuko is good and bad— constantly fighting for the dominance of his battered soul).

He is sixteen, he tells himself when he slips, and he has survived this long despite his father— to spite his father. He is sixteen, and he dedicates every breath he takes— every meditation to someone who has left.

(They all leave him eventually).

But Zuko is sixteen.

And it’s easy to read between the lines, to connect every scar and think of it as freckles. It’s so dreadfully simple to forget that these are warriors marks and that despite everything he’s gone through—

Despite all the times he righted his wrongs. Despite every kind word, every thoughtful action, every all nighter, every shared cup of tea, every assassination attempt, every bated breath— despite it all.

They forget that he is sixteen, and that he has done more for his people than Ozai had ever done for another human being throughout his reign— nay, his entire life.

Because Zuko is sixteen when he takes the crown, and sixteen when his nation decides he’s too much a traitor to be trusted, and sixteen when those who need him decide he’s not enough of a traitor to be the person they need him to be.

Zuko is sixteen, when unbeknownst to him, everyone who has ever cared for him begins to worry. 

Lieutenant Jee is fifty-six when he learns about the exiled prince’s scar, he is fifty six when he realises that maybe— he doesn’t know this kid at all.

Lieutenant Jee hears of the new Fire Lord’s crowning— and he thinks, maybe this kid will leave little fires everywhere... that mutiny will cower when it lays eyes on him. He is, more than anything, proud of the full sized shit this kid has grown to be.

Lieutenant Jee is fifty-seven when his favourite little headache stops sending his monthly letters— Lieutenant Jee is fifty-eight when he final decides to talk to the twat.

Lieutenant Jee sighs when he realises, that this once banished child— now finely maturing young adult— this Fire Lord (Edge Lord, he thinks, belatedly), has more honour and respect in his pinky finger than most men have in their entire lives.

After managing to shove his way through the royal guards, he finds the little shit— his favourite little shit— sound asleep on some scrolls. 

The fire has long since gone out, and the chill in the room is enough to make him wonder if Zhao haunts Zuko even in death. He settles it quickly, fixing the fires and even managing to draft a few letters to the people he knows his majesty will listen too.

His majesty, Jee struggles to suppress a snort, thinking of the times the slumbering brat would shout and screech and stomp over his honour.

(That was before Jee knew about the forty-first division— that’s before it became personal).

Jee signs heavily, stepping to the side of the snoozing kid, “Good-morning, Sunshine. Caldera says, hello.”

The sixteen year old shoots upright, a snort dipping from his lips as he looks at Jee with half-lidded eyes, “I was awake. The Northern Water Tribe customarily greets nobleman with the basic—“

Jee watches the kid ramble in silence— soon, to his mild horror, he realises, the kid may have mastered the art of book bending and the practice of simple diffusion.

Even worse, he realises the brat’s eyes aren’t even fully open— and the circles lining them would suggest that the kid hadn’t been getting as early of a start as he thought.

(Distantly he wonders if Zuko even tries to sleep anymore).

There’s ink on his hands, and exhaustion in his eyes and suddenly Jee takes it upon himself to be one of the father figures Zuko never had.

“Kid- hey,” The teen snaps out of it, somewhere between talking about the practices and misogyny of the Northern Water Tribe and how both are being reviewed and improved for the good of the whole, “let’s get you to bed.”

“You said good-morning,” he whispers, words lilting with a vulnerable, and exhausted lisp that Jee thought he’d never hear again, “I rise with the sun.”

Jee only lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head, “I know, but a Fire Lord needs his rest. Come on.”

Zuko rises to his feet slowly, and honestly, a bit wobbly at the knees. Inky strands of hair fall in his eyes, a cow-lick on the side of his head.

But somehow— his crown stays steady.

Jee has never been one for symbolism— but maybe, this one time he’ll allow himself to read between the lines.

There’s something even more telling about the way the servants and employees of the palace look concerned with Zuko’s current state of half-asleep-zombie-shuffle-type-beat.

They all look worried about him— and it occurs to Jee that the young ruler has never been one to show any type of weakness.

“Lord Zuko,” one asks, softly, shaking Zuko from his exhausted stupor.

In a matter of moments, he’s back to being a compassionate leader, eyebrows wrinkling as they come together, “Akasuki, is everything alright?”

Jee isn’t startled by Zuko knowing that everyone by name, in fact, it seems incredibly fitting.

“Yes! Yes, of course,” she pauses, eyes softening as she takes in the sight of the exhausted teen, “I was... are you alright? Would you like tea sent to your chambers?”

“I’m...” he sighs, scratching the back of his neck before letting out a chuckle. “A bit tired... if Kaori— it is Thursday— excellent, if Kaori isn’t too overwhelmed I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea.”

“Of course, sir,” and like she’s off, and the weariness seeps back into Zuko’s bones with every passing moment.

After her footsteps can no longer be heard, the twat takes a few of his own— sluggishly and full of what tips precariously into lethargy, but steady.

When Jee pulls back the covers for his favourite angsty teen, Zuko just sends him a short hlare that reads, _don’t treat me like a child._

But he doesn’t say a word, kicking off his shoes and tossing the top layers of his robes onto the floor before crashing down onto the bed.

He still sleeps on his side, Jee considers for a moment. Some things never change.

Zuko is sixteen when his former crewmate tells him that he is to sleep for as long as he can, and Zuko is sixteen when he is told that this surly old man who has slowly become a friend will sit watch on one of the chairs as he rests.

Zuko is sixteen when he realises he’s not as alone as he thought, and finally drifts to sleep. 

Jee watches in silence as Zuko drifts off, muscles relaxing and breaths slowing down.

He’s a mess still, Jee suppresses a snort, but he’s going to be doing great things in no time at all— he already has.

The door cracks open, and the servant from earlier startles slightly at the weight of dark eyes settled on her.

“Lieutenant,” she greets, setting the tea tray down as she begins to prepare a mug. She hesitates, however when she sees the kid knocked out— eyes softening, “oh. I’ll leave this here.”

With one last stolen glance, the girl turns on her heels and leaves the room as quietly as possible.

Jee is pretty sure that he hears her mumble, “he actually looks his age when he sleeps.”

His suspicions are confirmed with chuckles and mumbles of agreements from the guards outside.

It’s weird to think that this once angry, little brat, is tirelessly trying to change everything around him— even more so to realise that he’s succeeding.

Zuko is sixteen, he thinks, and so much more than his father ever was.

Zuko is sixteen when Jee sends quiet letters to Zuko’s friends and Iroh, telling them that the kid needs them. That he’s exhausted but never lets it show.

The day Zuko turns seventeen, his uncle wakes him with Jasmine tea— and instead of anger, he’s met with a warm heart and a suspiciously wet laugh.

Zuko is seventeen, when everyone remembers that even Fire Lords get by with a little help from their friends.

Even stupid cute boomerang boys, and little monks with arrows split across his asscheeks.

(Who knew monks mooning him didn’t go against their pacifist code of conduct?).


	2. ming

The second time someone realises that maybe he’s not who they think he is, Ming brings him tea. She finds him sitting at his desk, with strands of hair in his eyes. His crown set balanced on his head perfectly.

He looks more exhausted than he has in weeks, more than the time before when General Iroh and Zuko’s friends had last came to visit.

“My Lord?” She inquires quietly, but there’s a long moment of silence before she realises his eyes aren’t focused on the notes beneath him, they’re completely closed. “Oh, I see.”

She sets the tea down silently on the platform in the corner of the room, prior to carefully moving about Zuko’s sleeping frame.

Carefully, she slips the stylus from his hand, setting it in the golden holder his Uncle had brought from the Earth Kingdom for him. 

The Fire Lord doesn’t stir, even as Ming sets to work at clearing the desk about him, filing the papers into the colour-coded shelves in the corner he should be using based on urgency.

Spoiler: he does not. He just gets everything done without any regard for his personal needs.

After a handful and a half of minutes have passed, the room cleared around her, the guard carefully approaches the right side of his pliant frame, resting a soft hand on his shoulder.

He jolts, but not nearly as much as he would’ve if had been his left.

She’s not sure she’ll ever get used to not fearing for her life at flashes of golden that meet her eyes and stare into her soul.

But the young Fire Lord looks at her with sleepy eyes, clearing up by the minute as he glances around the room.

At times like these, she remembers how young he is— not even a full adult, and her heart aches a bit in her chest.

“Ming,” he greets, blinking through the bleariness, “I was just— uh—“

She watches as he scrambles for an excuse, for a askew paper or book— cheeks flushing as he realises he’s been caught.

“It’s okay,” she soothes, “I filed everything back into the shelves, as of tonight you don’t have any important documents that need to be filled out. You need to rest, My Lord.”

Zuko glances around, nodding quietly, “alright.”

“I’m... I’m not supposed to tell you this, but your Uncle is meant to come in tomorrow— Ambassador Sokka later this week.” She watches him carefully, and it seems like at information all the tension returns to Zuko’s body.

“What? Is everything—“

“Yes,” she confirms, “everything is fine. They just miss you very much. You need to rest, there’s chatter about the palace that you haven’t slept in days.”

He sends her a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck with a quiet chuckle.

“I’ll escort you back, and if you aren’t asleep before long I’ll send for some warm chamomile,” she promises, “now, let’s get you back to your chambers.”

He walks back carefully, fingers twisting in his robe as he greets the night staff with kind greetings and direct names.

“Ming?” He asks, as she checks his balcony doors and locks them for the night, “am I doing well?”

And when she turns— theres such vulnerability deep within his eyes that it breaks her heart.

“Of course, little Lord,” she simpers at the pout on his lips, “you’re doing more for the benefit of everyone than your father even considered in his life. Don’t tell Iroh, he’s a brave and noble man— but I think you may grow to be even more than he one day.”

“I would like to be just like my uncle,” Zuko mumbles wistfully, “sometimes I wonder how the world would be if it had been Lu Ten instead of me here.”

Ming only sighs, eyes softening as she looks like him, “Zuko, you’ve ended a war and you’re barely seventeen. You’ve been dealt a tough hand of cards, and I think you’re passing with flying colours. You’re not weak for needing to rest, nor are you week for having doubts. We love you, the Fire Nation loves you— at least, the people worth living do. Please believe me.” 

And something in his eyes tells her that he does believe her, and that even if he doesn’t, he wants to.

She watches as he pulls the duvet up to his chin, and just as she’s about to ask if he would like some tea his lips part with quiet breaths, and she knows he’s sound asleep.

“Sweet dreams, kid,” she smiles quietly as she vacated the room, taking her post outside the door.

Maybe she’ll talk to Iroh on the way out, and slightly suggest that he take Zuko to look at the tea shop down town— and maybe, they’ll even take a peek at the famous turtle duck fountain in Caldera’s new square. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> full disclosure if you read any of my other works im probably going to update one of my other chartered atla works sometime tomorrow and i also have a one shot 1/5 of the way drafted that’ll come out before the end of this week :)


	3. kiyi

Kiyi is five and a half— thank you very much— when her mother and father let her spend the summer at her the palace to train with her big brother and her Uncle Iroh.

The Kemurikage had been dealt with the year before— but the child doesn’t remember much more than a few not-so spiritual encounters when she’s cognisant.

When she’s asleep, visages of spirits that never really came back to steal naughty children plague her dreams— and she wakes up more than one occasion shaking and desperately wishing her parents were there.

On one of these nights, little feet find the cool flooring beneath and she’s running down the palace halls so quickly and quietly that none of the guards realise she’s slipping through their clutches until she stands in front her big brother’s door.

In front of her stand two Kyoshi Warriors— though in her head she’s still trying to work the letters of the name in order. She’s not quite sure what their names are, especially not her her panicked haze— but she is certain that the one with cropped russet hair is the one who sneaks her sweets when Zuko can’t and when her parents aren’t looking.

Her ready eyes clicker to the other one, whose hair is pulled up in bubble braids— Kiyi is pretty sure she’s the one who taught her how to cartwheel and braid when she visited in the fall. 

She trusts them, she decides, reaching up to pull the short haired one closer to her level. 

Suki falls to her knees easily enough, bring her hands up for Kiyi to take, “hi there, little one. What’s the problem?” 

“I want Zuzu,” she mumbles, bottom lip quivering despite her best attempts to be a big girl. A moment of deep grey eyes peering into her own brown ones is plenty for her little brain, and she adds, hopefully, “I cant reach the door thingy. Can you open it?” 

“Sure, Sweet Pea,” Ty Lee coos softly, “I think Zuko’s sleeping, but he won’t mind it too much if you wake him up. Be gentle, though.” 

“I promise.” Kiyi sniffs, letting go of the hands that have taken hers so carefully. 

The door pulls open, and slowly Kiyi makes her way in, looking around for any sign of alertness from her brother— or for any sign of his really nice Water Tribe friend who always holds his hand. 

(Kiyi likes Zuko’s Water Tribe friend, he gives her biscuits and seal jerky when no ones looking). 

She almost trips over the edge of a vase of fire lilies that wasn’t there last time she was in this room, but catches herself before she can fall— throwing a glance at Zuko. 

The Fire Lord gives no indication of hearing her, and Kiyi slowly makes her way around the room stopping in front of the bed so she can see if he’s actually asleep— or just pretending like he does when the pretty guards outside get mad at him for having little crescent Yue’s under his eyes. 

(His Water Tribe friend teaches her about the moon, and tells Kiyi that he was once friends the girl from the bed time stories about the moon. She likes that too).

Carefully, the five-year-old rises to her feet on the old mahogany nightstand beside Zuko’s bed— narrowly avoiding kicking the extinguished candle as she goes. 

She makes it onto the bed, close enough to her brother that she can hear the breaths that rattle softly in his nose— they exhale in a wispy way that she doesn’t quite know how to describe with her vocabulary. 

Her brother doesn’t snore like their Uncle, or his Water Tribe friend, or even like her dad— he snores more like their mom, a quiet, relaxed thing that only those he trusts get to hear. 

It’s something she doesn’t know how to explain, or how to put in words— but it’s something she knows. She knows that Zuko loves her and would do anything to protect her just as she knows the the sun rises and when it falls, the moon takes its place. 

She knows she’s safe with him, just as she knows that her favourite food is fire flakes, and that Zuko always orders the bland noodles for himself to trade, because he knows the fire noodles will be too spicy for her to eat despite her stubbornness. 

She gets it from him, Ursa thinks one day, as she watches her eldest son— her only son,bare his teeth during a sparring session with Master Piandao. 

She doesn’t say a word— instead, deciding to nestle herself between her brothers splayed out arm and the silky crimson coloured sheets beneath his deadweight. 

Once she’s settled under the covers, she releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding because Zuko— the world’s lightest sleeper— is still completely down for the count. 

Her heart suddenly feels a lot less like it’s going to pound out of her chest, and the nightmare doesn’t seem so scary anymore. 

That is until she starts falling asleep again, and jolts herself awake so hard that she chokes on a breath and Zuko stirs from the movement. 

“Huh?” His good eye is barely open— smashed sleepily into the pillow beneath, and his burned one is even worse off, “Ki’i?” 

His tongue feels like molasses as he speaks, but he’s awake enough to toss a flame at the torch in the corner. 

Golden light floods the room, and when Kiyi looks up at him again his eyes are squinted against the harsh light, looking down at her with concern.

“What’s wrong?” He inquires, eyes still half shut. 

“Nothin’,” is what she decides on, swallowing hard, “go back to sleep, Zuzu.” 

She’s five, not stupid— and she can see in his eyes the exact moment he registers the mostly dried tear tracks on her cheeks. 

“Oh, Sunshine,” he mumbles, more to himself than to her. He fully lifts himself into a sitting position, eyes significantly more open than they had been before. His next phrase, however, is clearly directed at her. “What’s wrong?” 

“I had a bad dream,” he curls his legs up beneath him, and hauls her up to sit in front of him. “The Korokke Warriors let me in.” 

Zuko poorly suppresses his snort, and Kiyi looks absolutely beside herself, “Zuzu! It’s not funny!” 

“I know, I know,” He sends his most I-am-the-only-prince-charming smile, “Korokke is that fried potato you like. I’m laughing because you just called my guards the potato warriors.”

Kiyi ponders this for a moment, before grinning back, but as Zuko’s smile becomes concerned her own fades as well.

“Can I go back to sleep?” She blurts before Zuko can ask her to go back to her room, “and... and stay.” 

Her brother throws a half hazard glance at the night sky and lets out a yawn so wide the five year old is surprised fire doesn’t come out. She’s less surprised to find that she yawns too. 

“Are you tired?” Kiyi shakes her head. “That’s what I thought. How about we go look at the turtle-ducks?” 

Before she can answer, he’s reaching for his outer robe and hauling it over his shoulders before lifting her off the bed and onto his hip. Her arms are wound around his neck before she can stop herself, forehead dropped into his neck as he walks. 

The really nice girls trail behind him with their fans, like they always do. They’re good friends, Kiyi thinks.

“Zu,” she mumbles, voice further muffled by the cloth over his shoulder, “you should sleep.” 

“It’s okay, Ki,” he soothes softly, tightening his grip, “I’m not even that tired, kiddo.” 

“You were snoring,” she blurts, and it’s enough to make the pretty girls with the cool makeup giggle. Zuko’s cheeks flush with a soft pink colour. 

“I don’t snore.“ his voice has raised an octave out of sheer embarrassment, and if Kiyi wasn’t so set on being right all the time she’d be giggling at the rise she’s gotten out of him. 

“Sure you do,” she states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “but only when you’re sleepy and around people you love. Just like Momma.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” he says simply, something tightening in his chest. 

Kiyi thinks he sounds like he’s swallowed one of the frozen frogs from Water Tribe Friend™, Sokka’s, stories. 

The cool early morning air nips at her cheeks, but it’s still much warmer than when she’d visited the Southern Water Tribe with Aunt Katara and Uncle Aang last year. 

Her feet land in soft grass, and she blinks up at Zuko as if waiting for him to swear by the spirits that he doesn’t snore. 

“I tried to not wake you,” she whispers as they settle at the edge of the duck pond, guilt creeping into her words as she looks at the half Yue’s that still line his under eye. “I promise.” 

“It’s okay, Sunshine,” he quells her quietly, “why don’t you tell me what Sokka told you about the constellations?” 

“Will you go back to sleep if I do?” 

Zuko doesn’t make promises he can’t keep, so instead he just sends her a half smile as he presses his back up against the tree with a small child on his lap and the world for her to create before his eyes.

* * *

It’s Sokka who finds them the next morning, all the grouchiness of travelling draining, body flooding with fear as he sees Ty Lee and Suki rested against each other, passed out at the door of the gardens.

“Suki?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing as he realises that they are, in truth, just sound asleep.

Her eyes snap open, “oh shit.”

Sokka bites back a cackle, “is Zuko in the gardens?”

She yawns, gesturing lazily behind her, “Yoko and Ming should be on the other side by now— of the doors Sokka, no one’s dead.”

He flips her a bird as he walks past, feet stuttering to a halt as he finds Zuko slumped™ against a tree. His mouth is open slightly, eyes closed, and hands wrapped around the very much asleep Kiyi in his lap.

The sun is just beginning to rise as he makes his way over, admiring the sight before him for a moment before slowly snatching lifting Zuko’s sister into his arms to carry to back to her room.

He nudges Zuko softly with his foot, and the Fire Lord snaps awake, snorting from surprise in a way that has Sokka desperately clamping down on his bottom lip with his teeth.

“And Toph calls me Snoozles,” Sokka huffs, his tough guy façade quickly going down the drain when Zuko’s cheeks flush.

A warm smile takes over his bronze features, and Zuko relishes in it— taking Sokka’s free hand as he rises to his feet.

“What happened here?”

“Kiyi had a nightmare... I just, figured I’d take her to see the turtle ducks,” Zuko’s cheeks flush, “I made a deal that if she told me about the stars, I’d try to go back to sleep. Apparently, I snore now? And...”

Sokka just listens as Zuko wanders off on his own little tangent, adorably lost in his head and sharing everything thought out loud. 

He’s exhausted. There’s no doubt about it. 

Sokka hasn’t been sleeping well either, but he keeps that to himself. Kiyi stirs against he blue of his tunic, and after a very blearily good morning she threatens Zuko with her little grubby five-year-old hands.

Sokka doesn’t stop her— he just listens to his jail-break buddy get a stern, Iroh-level talking to from the pipsqueak.

Eventually, they end up in the ambassadors chambers catching up on the missed weeks as Zuko’s eyes droop despite the sun peaking through the blinds.

“Kiyi’s right. You should rest.”

“The sun—“

“Just close your eyes. You can go if you’re not asleep after ten deep breaths,” Sokka pats he shoulder, chuckling as Zuko settles himself on his back over the covers.

He takes three full breaths before they drop off, five before he’s gone, and eight by time Sokka understands what Kiyi meant by his, ‘safe snores’.

Little sniffles bridge the gap between them, and before too long— Sokka is right along with him in slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok tbh im not sure how i feel abt this part i might delete it if no one like it and just pretend like this never happened


	4. hakoda

Hakoda is barely forty when he decides that he is getting sick of this shit— this shit being watching his children and their friends carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Hakoda is barely forty when his eldest child and only son convinced him to come to the Fire Nation’s capitol with him— and further extends the offer that he sleep in one of the bedrooms that the (yes, _the_ ) Fire Lord’s palace has to offer.

Sometimes, he wonders when his kids got to be so grown up— and sometimes he wonders where the world would be with out them.

But, not everything seems as dreary as it had in the moments plagued by nightmares of losing his children— just as he’d lost Kya.

Because Hakoda, chief of the Southern Water Tribe wakes up with memories of the boiling rock fresh in his mind and he knows he won’t find sleep until he checks on his kids.

He’s spent so long from them, that sometimes it feels as though he’ll spend the rest of his days trying to make up for his absence. 

First, he lets his bone-weary feet carry him to the permanent Water Tribe Ambassadors suite— cracking open the doors until he gets to Sokka’s bedroom.

He finds Sokka— the son who has blossomed into a incredible warrior, and into an even more valiant young man— sprawled out on his stomach, snoring quietly. One arm dangles precariously over the edge of the bed— his boomerang gripped lackadaisically in his hand as he sleeps on.

Sometimes, Hakoda can’t help but wonder about the horrors his children have seen— the ones they never told him about. It’s a morbid curiosity, he concludes— something he’s not sure he truly wants to know the answer to.

Especially, not after what he’d seen in the once exiled prince, now Fire Lord’s eyes the day they’d toured the palace. Hakoda hadn’t understood why the Fire Nation noble had asked to see the Agni Kai arena, not until Sokka had to tear Zuko’s painfully empty eyes away from the raised platform.

Not until he realised that Zuko left the room, fingers pressed against the outside of his scar— and not until he’d woken up to screams so loud that the Hakoda had found Ming with her head bowed outside the door.

_“What’s—“ but the warrior had only bowed her head, eyes full of sorrow._

_“They’re night terrors, Chief Hakoda.” she said, the words slipping off her tongue with a deep crestfallenness taking residence in her eyes. “It’s best that he wakes himself.”_

_“How can you—“_

_“When he wakes himself, he doesn’t remember them— and he doesn’t want any of us to get burned. He couldn’t look at Sokka for a week after he burned him.”_

Instead of trying to find sleep, Hakoda wanders out to one of the several gardens. He takes his time, meandering about for a bit before realising that the young Fire Lord is sitting on the bridge overlooking the turtleduck pond. 

In his hand, a bloomed firelily, and on his lips- a quiet frown that says more than a million words.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” Hakoda greets warmly, careful to approach Zuko on his good side. “Its nice to see you, but why are you up at such an hour?”

He’s well aware he’s playing the overbearingfather card on this poor sleep deprived kid, but sometimes, he thinks, maybe that’s all this young leader needs.

Maybe, he just needs someone to care about him the way only a father can. Naturally, Hakoda lowers himself to sit beside Zuko, who stares at him with a unreadable expression— and a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Chief Hakoda.” he returns more easily than he had when they first spoken in the air-temple after boiling rock. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Hakoda doesn’t miss the anxious look in Zuko’s eyes— and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the kid is testing the waters— trying to see if all father-figures will treat him like Ozai once had.

“That’s fair.” Hakoda grins, and Zuko offers him a small, private smile, before returning his eyes to the flower in his hands. “Are you alright, though?”

The teen is silent for a moment too long, brow creating a wrinkle in the centre of his forehead; he swallows hard, nodding quietly. “I’m fine, sir. Are you alright? I can send for anything you need.”

“Oh, I’m getting by.” Hakoda tries to lighten the air, but it fails miserably. “The guest room is wonderful. And Sokka was absolutely right about fire noodles. He said— oh, as he put it, that shit _does_ slap.”

The Fire Lord snorts at this, rolling his eyes, muttering more to himself than anything, “Agni, Sokka.”

“He’s a good kid.” Hakoda adds fondly, shaking his head. “He’s always been like that— he’s always making me proud. And Katara— Tui and La, they both make me so proud. Every day.”

The raven haired teen nods along, “One time Katara knocked me out at the North Pole. I was so angry about it when I woke up, but it was truly an honour to get decked in the face by her water bending.”

Hakoda barks out a surprised laugh, and almost immediately regrets it when the kid startled beside him. He mumbles an apology, but Zuko shrugs it off easily enough offering a soft grin in exchange.

“Legend has it you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I didn’t know we called Sokka legend now,” he retorts dryly, recoiling immediately as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

“Considering I heard it from one of the girls chatting in the kitchens— and also noticed it within five minutes of seeing you, I think so.”

The young fire bender falls silent for a long period of time, silence lapsing between them waves lapping along the shoreline.

Hakoda opens his mouth to speak, just as Zuko finally speaks beside him— words careful and soft, “Do you ever get nightmares?”

Hakoda does— on nights like tonight, his brain forgets they are no longer in war. He often wakes with gasps dying in his throat, and memories— some real, and some not— seared into his eyelids.

Instead of saying this, he offers, “Well, son, I’d argue that you’ve seen more than I have.”

It’s a miserable attempt to get Zuko to open up, and it fails— no, it absolutely crashes and burns.

“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive,” he says quietly, before tacking on a, “sir.”

Suddenly, Hakoda realises just how far he’s come. He looks the older man in the eyes, and no longer places himself between the chief and his children— between his friends and their father.

Zuko is beginning to learn that not ever adult wants him to suffer— that not every father is only that— that some fathers learn to be a dad.

So, he caves, “I do. I had one tonight— I had to check on Sokka, and I couldn’t fall back asleep.”

Zuko nods, like he understands. Hakoda thinks he might. “I wake up holding the left side of my face a lot— it’s weird. I can’t feel it much anymore, but in the dreams I always can. And no matter how terrifying the nightmares are— it’s like for ten minutes, for an hour, for however long I’m in it— it’s like I was never scarred.”

Hakoda doesnt fully understand, he may never fully understand— but he tries. And something in Zuko softens when he does.

The tribesman finally settles on, “I’m sure that its conflicting.”

“Yeah— sometimes, it sounds really morbid, but sometimes going through the agony of the memory is worth feeling normal. So much has changed so fast, but the first thirteen years— first sixteen years of my life were dedicated to not being good enough.”

He pauses, sucking in a deep breath, before pressing on. “Sometimes— I dunno. I always wake up screaming, but theres always a certain predictability. My dreams are always the same— the bad ones at least.”

“I always dream about Kya’s death— sometimes, I dream of the kids being ripped from me. I dream less about the war. Sometimes, you’re there too. I don’t know when I started seeing you as my own— but it happened. I dream about all of you know— the six of you.” He shakes his head, chuckling quietly.

But when he catches the look in Zuko’s eyes, he realises that it’s probably been a long time since Zuko’s been told by someone other than his uncle that he’s cared for.

“I’m always here for you kid. Whatever you need.”

Something in him breaks when Zuko’s hand twitches at his side— as if he wants to reach out, but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

“Can I hug you?” And to his surprise, Zuko nods.

They spend a long few moments hugging in the middle of a garden at the palace— and it’s not really a surprise when tears tear their way through Hakoda’s nightshirt.

After a while, they pull apart and Hakoda urges Zuko to get some rest. They stumble back to their bedrooms, and Hakoda wakes with a gasp dying on his lips some odd number of hours later.

He makes his way around the ambassador suite, finding his son still out like a light— and after a while, makes his way to Zuko’s room.

Much to his astonishment, Zuko lies sound asleep— not on his bed, but instead, on a bedroll at the base of the windows. He’s buried in a blanket, and it’s then that Hakoda realises— you can take the child out of the war, but it’s hard to shake the warrior from a child. 

Hakoda carefully pulls the the furs that Sokka gave him for his birthday off of the bed, layering them on the sleeping Lord— and when Zuko’s eyes crack open he soothes him easily.

“Get some rest,” He chastises, though there’s absolutely no heat behind it. “You need it.”

“Thanks, Dad.” there’s a pause as Hakoda processes the words, and as Zuko returns to sleep.

And when he finally does, something in him breaks a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay hydrated! be kind to yourself! have a wonderful day! don’t forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter! :)


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